Interludes
by Nikoru-chan
Summary: Twentyverse. Part III new version now up The Supercycle contemplates its rider. PLEASE C
1. Default Chapter

Interlude: Shine

Robin, Nightwing, Batman, and all related DC characters are precisely that; DC characters. They belong not to me, but to DC, Warner Bros., and whomever else.

They are used without permission, solely for the purposes of entertainment. No profit is being made from this work. 

The song 'Shine' is the work of Riche Kotzen and Rchie Zito of east west Japan, and hence is their property. It also belongs to (I think) Pioneer LDC, as well as whomever else. The TV edit is used here as I've never heard the full version. 

NOTES:

This fic is set after the events chronicled in Twenty and Wind and the Snow. You can, of course, read it without having read either of the aforementioned, but I rather doubt it'll make much sense if you do. A brief summary is provided anyway, though I sincerely hope you'll go and read the prequels and write me lots of comments! **grin** A special thanks to Lockheed, whose passion for happy endings rivals my own, but who tends to indulge in somewhat less Timmy-torture to get there. Lockheed's encouragements, as well as a few well-placed kicks from my muse, are what bring you this fic. Thanks! Part of this fic is my first attempt to use a song in a fanfic (calling this a songfic would probably be really stretching the definition). I'm not sure how well it worked, so please write me and let me know. As always, comments and criticisms are eagerly sought after, treasured when obtained, and form a large part of the motivation to write more, so PLEASE C&C! 

WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE (SUMMARY) 

As should be blatantly obvious, this is a SPOILER ALERT!!!!!!!!!!!

Please bear in mind that this is a summary only. For details, whys, hows, and where-to-fors, please go read the fics.

**Twenty**: After Batman betrays his identity to Spoiler, Robin is kidnapped by the sinister Doctor, who uses him as a subject. The aims of the Doctor's experiments are twofold; one, to erase a mind completely - personality, memories, the very substance of _self_ – gone. The second is to implant another mind, a new one crafted specially by the Doctor for a particular purpose. This new mind is that of an assassin, perfectly trained, utterly lethal and totally obedient to the Doctor.  Robin is joined in his ordeal by the mysterious boy Kaze, whose own reprogramming is nearly finished, and with whom he develops a strong bond. Kaze escapes to seek help, but in the interim Robin's reprogramming is completed. To test his finished subject – called Vingt - the Doctor choses a very specific target, the Batman. The first assassination attempt on Batman fails, and in the second Vingt is revealed to be Robin. The Doctor is captured by the vigilantes, and orders Vingt to self-destruct, which he does, almost taking the nearly subsumed Robin/Tim personality with him. However, Robin survives the ordeal physically, though mentally he remains severely  . . . injured, for want of a better term. The Doctor and Kaze die in a showdown in Gotham Police Station, leaving Robin with more questions than answers, a few hazy memories, and thoughts that may or may not be entirely his own. Robin changes his identity and starts at a new school, with Alfred's assistance.

**Wind and the Snow:** at his new school, Robin becomes friends with Kaze's cousin, Yuki. Through her he is introduced to Kaze and Yukis' mentors, Kaguya and the Shishou, who begin training him as they trained Kaze. Nightwing, desperate to get his 'little brother' back, takes Robin to meet up with Young Justice at Titans Tower. In the interim, Yuki is kidnapped. Robin discovers her likely location with his usual detective ability, and after some conflict he and the rest of Young Justice set off in the Supercycle to find and rescue her. All does NOT go to plan, and Yuki dies. Secret, Nightwing, and Robin himself are left to pick up the shattered pieces.

Phew! Now, on with the fic, ne! (will somebody let me know if people are actually reading these summaries/finding them useful? Otherwise I'll stop bothering to write them).

_Italics_ = thought

_::Italics in colons::_ = song lyrics

***********************

NIGHTWING 

He hadn't meant to follow his little brother. He really hadn't. It was happenstance, not intention that had sent him ghosting along after the lone figure as it wended its way through the Gotham crowds, strangely untouched by all around it. Happenstance and curiosity.

            He'd wanted to visit the Cave that weekend. Or specifically, the manor above it. Do a little father-son bonding, and hopefully catch up with his 'kid brother'. _I'm going to entice you back to your Young Justice pals, Tim. I am. Soon as I figure out how. You need friends among the living, little brother, and I won't let a tragedy tear you from them. Especially not since you were starting to heal._

            Unfortunately, a melted tangle of wires protruding from the sleek chrome underbelly of his bike had other ideas. A muttered snarl, a glance at a watch, and Dick Grayson, a.k.a. Nightwing, was on his way to Gotham on the commuter express. The train was slightly slower, and a lot less personal, than the blissful roar of the bike on a freeway, but it was still more than adequate.

            He'd disembarked at the newly rebuilt Gotham Station, intent on grabbing a cab and heading out to Wayne Manor. He'd gotten as far as the turnstile when his plans had been irrevocably changed.

            Dick started as, for an instant in his peripheral vision, he saw his little brother. _What the? What's with the skirt?! And hey . . .He's not wearing the short-haired wig! Something's up._ Curiosity piqued, he turned on his heel, smiled charmingly at the annoyed commuters queuing behind him, and followed the rapidly vanishing smaller figure. Noting the number of the bus his little brother boarded, he flung himself into a waiting taxi, and – in true old movie style – ordered the driver to follow the slow-moving vehicle.

             Upon arriving at their destination, Nightwing was forced to revise his opinion. What he'd initially mistaken for an ankle-length pleated skirt under his little brother's jacket was in fact a set of neatly pressed dark blue hakama. As the third Robin shed his jacket, Dick caught sight of the clean, white gi over the top of it. Sombre-faced, his long hair pulled back from his face in a neat high pony-tail, Robin joined a cohort of five of what appeared to be his peers, similarly dressed.

            _So whatever scene you've gotten yourself into, little brother, it has a uniform. But why a martial arts outfit? Particularly at this joint._ Glancing at the house, Dick's trained eyes assessed the building. A stately mansion, at least on par with Wayne Manor in terms of real estate, this place was none-the-less much newer. _But this is an old-money district, or used to be, so whomever this house belongs to, they've got a lot of clout to get a place here._ Detective training kicking in, Dick made a note to look into it later.

            His attention was recaptured as the group of six made their grim-faced way into the manor. _Hn. There's enough of a secure set-up around this place to make getting in difficult. I'm not too worried about the guards, but getting past Little Brother without being noticed? Unlikely.  Fortunately, _he pulled open his travel bag, _I came equipped. High powered binoculars. Don't leave home without 'em._ With practiced ease, he focussed them on – and then through – the large bay window situated conveniently perpendicular to the tree he'd climbed some way over the other side of the street, up the wooded slope. 

            There was, he noted, an old man in front of a room of people, giving what appeared to be a moving oration. Robin, like the others he'd joined outside, sat with his head bowed. _Some sort of cult he's infiltrating? A political or terrorist movement? Oh, little brother, I hope you're not in too deep. Not that I couldn't pull you out. And then kick your butt for getting **me** into the same mess!_

            Forced to give up his attempt at lip-reading due to the speaker's unruly beard, Nightwing settled for waiting, a still watchfulness in his pose. 

            It was one of the shortest stakeouts he'd ever done. 

            A mere hour or so after their arrival, the people within the room began to move, an action that coincided with the arrival of a large black car. Nightwing shivered. He had a suspicion of what that meant.

            His fears were realised as the Robin came out, grouped with five of his peers.

::I never really feel quite right 

_And I don't know why,_

_All I know is, something's wrong.::_

            Robin gave no sign he'd seen his brother, that he was aware of his presence at all. Indeed, his entire concentration was on his current activity, on the load he carried. 

            Balanced on his shoulders, the weight distributed across him and the five others, was a coffin. 

            Dick could only hold his breath, as with all due solemnity, Robin and the others slid the coffin into the hearse. _Well, I guess that answers that. Oh, little brother, I'm sorry!_

            Turning from his task, Robin appeared to converse deeply for a few minutes with a middle-aged couple. Around him people were dispersing, some stopping to speak to the male of the pair, hindering Nightwing's view of the proceedings. The woman continued to speak to Robin, a focussed intensity evident even through the fragile strength with which she was holding her brittle composure together. 

            Walking her to her car, Robin held the door open for her, helped her inside. Nighwing couldn't be sure, but he thought she handed the boy something. Before Robin could protest, the man had climbed in the other side, and the car had driven off, leaving Robin turning a small white box over in his hands in the rapidly emptying street.

            When the avenue was fully deserted, Robin turned toward the wooded area Nightwing had taken refuge in.

            "You can come out now," he said, in a voice hoarse with suppressed emotion. "Everyone's gone."

_::Every time I look at you,_

_You seem so alive,::_

A short while later, and the pair had decamped to a booth in Dick's favourite Gotham diner. The staff here knew the two on sight, and knew well enough when to leave them alone. This, it seemed, was one of those times. 

Dick glanced across the chipped plastic table at his little brother. The boy had remained silent since his acknowledgement of the other's presence, his face schooled into a carefully neutral expression. Anyone glancing casually at him would have seen only pleasant blandness. Dick knew better. The slight tightness around eyes forbidden to leak tears, the tension of lips trying not to quiver, all indicated a soul-deep hurt.

He had thought his little brother recovered. He had thought wrong.

_Now it's time to see if I can help._ Squaring his jaw, he bent to the seemingly impossible task.

"You wanna talk about it?" 

". . ."

"It's okay if you don't. I'm here either way, whether you want to talk or just want to eat." He fixed his kid brother with a severe look, noting that the boy seemed even paler and more fragile than usual. _First things first, I guess._ "Speaking of which, when's the last time you ate?"

The bland mask cracked a little, confusion peeping through. Clearly, this was not a turn of events the current boy wonder had been expecting. _What'd you think I was going to do? Interrogate you about that funeral? _Irrationally, Dick felt hurt._ That's Batman's style, not mine._

"Uh. . ."

"If you can't remember, then it's been too long."  Flagging down a waitress and placing a priority order was no problem (part of the reason Dick was known by sight here was his largesse with tips: rapid service, as well as knowing when to say nothing and leave him alone, were well rewarded by this particular customer.) 

"Day before yesterday."

"Eh?"

"Last time I ate was the day before yesterday. That was when . . . when they. . ."

Dick was silent as the boy opposite him trailed off, obviously struggling with his thoughts. He had time, all the time he needed, to give the other the space to speak.

::Tell me, how do you do it?  
            Walk me through it.

_I follow in every footstep,::_

"Her body arrived back. I don't know who or how it got there, but it did. Her mother and father identified it. They . . . they had to . . ." He broke off, the mask cracking more as his lower lip trembled.

"They asked me . . . asked a bunch of us, actually, but they asked for me specifically, to . . . carry the coffin. They're taking her back to Japan. They've got a family site in Koya-san, and she'll. . . they'll . . .I guess I just didn't really feel like eating." He finished lamely as the threatened tears began to spill, much as they had on a night nearly a week earlier, when a small boy had tumbled out of a shower, sobbing. That had been the first show of emotion in months, and now this second followed hot on it's heels. _Oh, little brother, I wish it was smiles, I wish it was laughter. You deserve it. Not this constant misery. You deserve to rediscover yourself with joy._

"She's . . . they're both . . . they're both really gone, aren't they? I know I told Secret it was okay, but . . . But it's not. They're my friends and I want them back! I don't want them to be gone!"  The boy was crying openly now, his breath coming in hiccoughing pauses. Thanking the heavens that they'd managed to get a booth, Dick slid around the bench to sit next to his little brother.

"I want them back! We . . . Kaze and I . . . we never got to . . . and then Yuki . . ." Hoarse whispers muffled by choking sobs, Robin buried his face in his big brother's shoulder. Dick was oddly comforted by this, _a few mere weeks ago he'd have fled, not sought out a shoulder to cry on. Now I have to make sure he doesn't regret it._

"They're dead, yeah. But they're not gone." He whispered softly into the dark hair under his chin. "Shh. It's okay. They're not gone. They'll never be gone." Dick's own throat constricted as he thought of friends loved and lost, of his parents, of Jericho . . . of Tim himself, missing and feared dead for so many months. "As long as you remember them, they'll never be gone. And someday, maybe not soon, but someday, you'll stop thinking of how much it hurts to not see them, and remember all the good things you did with them."

At his side, the current Robin just cried harder. 

_::Maybe on your own _

_You take a conscious step_

_Do you wanna give it up?::_

It was nearly an hour before the sobs subsided, and Dick could only tell because Robin's shoulders stopped shaking. Throughout it all, the boy had cried silently. A fortunate thing, since it meant that only the diner staff, and not the other patrons, were alerted to his emotional state. 

As the younger boy looked up, and snagged a paper napkin to blow his swollen nose, their food arrived, the timing impeccable. Another reason to love this diner. They'd probably remade it specially when they saw the boy's tears ease. Dick smiled and handed his little brother the shake he'd ordered for him. _A crying jag like that, and you'll have the mother of all headaches. A drink will help._ The boy looked up in gratitude as he wiped the cold glass across his forehead, confirming Dick's guess.

"Go wash your face, and then we'll eat." Nodding Robin rose.

When he returned a few minutes later, it was to pick at the mound of fries lying next to the burger on his plate. Dick said nothing, merely opting to lead by example, and demolish his own meal. 

"What'd that lady give you?" He asked a short while later, when it became obvious that all his brother was planning on doing was to push the fries around the plate.

"Huh?"  
            "She gave you a box, didn't she? What was in it?" Robin looked startled at that.

"I'd forgotten about it." Reaching into his jacket pocket, Robin pulled out the small white box. "She said . . . she said it was Yuki's. But that when she saw it, she knew I should have it." _She said it was given to Yuki by Kaguya, with the instructions to open it and use the information she would derive from it, if she was ever in trouble and needed extra help, help she could trust completely. But I'm not going to tell you that, Big Brother. It would take too much explaining. Mireba-san also said it was the last gift her daughter had received, that it was found on the floor in her room in Bryleaf after she was attacked, overlooked by the kidnappers.  I wonder what it is._

Gently, he pulled open the white wrapping paper to expose a simple jewellery case within.  Opening the box, his eyes widened.

Nestled into the velvet cushion was a simple locket on a fine chain. Pulling it out for closer inspection, Robin saw that it seemed to be patterned with snowflakes, or was that a bird swirling on a breeze? Turn it this way and it seemed like a fox peeking out of tall grass . . . or. . . . Robin shook his head, flipping it to the side to look for a catch. He found it eventually, cleverly hidden in the design on the front. As his fingers massaged it, the locket sprung open. 

There were two panels on the inside. On one, Yuki grinned out, miniature but perfect. The tiny portrait captured her vibrancy and life, frozen for an instant. Robin could almost hear her call out to him, "Hey, Van! Why so sad?"

The other . . . the other held Robin spellbound. It was only when he felt Dick, concerned, nudge his shoulder that he remembered to breathe. The other panel held a photo.

Not a portrait like the first image had been, this one was a shot, shrunken but still exquisitely detailed. _From a security camera. It must have been from a security camera! _It showed Kaze, leaning back to back with . . . Robin himself. Battered and filthy, the two were sitting in what could only have been their cell at the Doctor's headquarters. And they were laughing. Heads thrown back, shoulders shaking, the pair of them were laughing with all the desperate abandon they could muster to their disposal. _I remember that. Kaze said something. It wasn't even particularly funny, but we laughed. Oh, how we laughed. It was our armour against the Doctor, against the world!_

_Armour against the world . . . against all the pain life could throw at us._ Robin was conscious of a smile cracking his lips, though tears once again blurred his vision. 

I survived, Kaze, like I promised. And I promise you now, I will continue to survive! I'll continue to be me, and I'll take my joy at finding out who that is, wherever and whenever I can get it! 

::But all I want is for you to

Shine  
            Shine down on me

Shine on this life that's burning out

(You give me Heaven that I've ever known)  
            I want you to

Shine

Shine down on me::

End interlude 1: Nightwing.

NOTES:

This is the first of four planned 'interlude' fics. These are designed to give Robin (and me) a wee bit of a break (and some character development/interactions) before the action/adventure stuff begins up again. 

I don't know if the others will include songs yet. Let me know if you think this one worked – I love getting C&C, and especially as this is a new writing technique for me, I want to hear your opinions!


	2. two

Interlude 2: Ninety Degrees to Normal

DISCLAIMER: the characters portrayed herein belong to DC, Warner Bros and their affiliates. Not me. I'm simply borrowing them briefly. 

SPECIAL NOTE: This fic is respectfully dedicated to Melissa, Kay, Cathy and Paula, none of whom technically had anything to do with any of the writing process. For teaching, understanding, re-organising schedules, and calm experience. You gave me enough rope to let me do the all things I could, but not enough to hang myself. For this I remain profoundly grateful. (Finishing by nine-thirty both nights was a distinct bonus, too.)

**************************************

BATGIRL AND ORACLE

            Neither Batgirl, nor the accompanying Oracle was particularly surprised to finding Nightwing and Robin in the Cave. The first was flipping his way gracefully across the uneven bars and balance beam. The second, with no less enthusiasm, was demolishing a plate of Alfred's double choc-chip cookies and milk. 

            "A bit hungry, munchkin?" Oracle questioned by way of greeting. She was answered with an affirmative nod from the boy in question, and a quick warning glance from the man behind him, the look softening almost immediately into one of affection.  

            Dick's right, he does look a bit skinny still. Damn that Doctor. She thought ruffling the younger boy's hair, ignoring the slightly synthetic feel of it. Synthetic? Well, we all have our little secrets. At any rate, he needs to eat. Just as Batgirl and I need to.  With that, she swiped a cookie off the plate, Cassandra rapidly following her lead.

            One theft he could deal with. But two? And one of them the last cookie?

            "Hey!" Robin pouted, the wounded look he shot at the pair the most human expression he'd worn in months. 

            It was that glance that decided Batgirl, that and the body language behind it. Something had changed in her young friend, and for the better. Now she had to see if she could further that shift, develop it a little more, and let it flower into the pure beauty of spirit that she knew Robin still possessed.

            No time like the present to try. She flashed Robin a very feral, very toothy, grin. "Fight you . . . for it." 

            His answering smirk matched her own.

            "You're on!"

There were no words. Then again, they needed none. 

The sparring match started out innocently enough on the large matted dojo area of the cave. The two combatants even managed to keep it there for a few minutes, before spiralling into the freewheeling artistry of combat that they both excelled in. Jabbing, feinting and leaping, Robin and Batgirl sparred their way around the cave, bouncing off gymnastic equipment, walls, floors and computers with equal grace and aplomb, neither gaining the upper hand.

Neither of them were really seeking it, though. To an untutored observer, the combat would have borne a chilling similarity to the life and death struggle on a rooftop several moons ago. But there were no untutored observers present, and though even the Bat-trained people there were having trouble following the speed of the movements, it was none-the-less apparent that this was a serious, but not lethal match.

Part of the reason it was obvious was the lopsided grin that had slashed its way across Cassandra's normally stoic features. She wasn't out for blood, but for a much greater prize, cookies. So was Robin. To one side, Barbara simply settled for holding the plate steady, the contested treasure in isolated splendour on the tray, as next to her Nightwing watched with rapt intensity.

He's good, Nightwing realised with a shade of discomfort, very, very good. Better than I am, better than Batman. On par with Batgirl. Like her, his style is as defined by the moves he **doesn't** make as by those he does. By the carefully restrained lethality. All that power, all that skill, directed into non-fatal force. He drew in a short breath. It had been, he was beginning to realise, as much sheer dumb luck as any effort on the Bat-family's part that had averted Batman's murder at the hands of the altered Timothy some time earlier. The thought was more than a little sobering. Thank God he's on our side.

Robin's thoughts, though not as dire, were equally as focussed. He was not going to let that cookie go without a fight. Though to be honest, I'm enjoying the fight even more than I would the cookie. Not that I'll ever tell Batgirl – or Alfred – that! His train of thought was derailed by a remarkable three-hit combination that Cassandra flowed into with the liquid grace of a lifetime's practice. His counter, created on the spot, was equally flawless, a response, not only thought, but felt. To observers, it was merely another exchange in an already breathtaking combat. But within one of the two participants, everything had changed. It had not been a simple block at all. It had been an answer, the opening rejoinder of a conversation of body and movement.

Robin was mildly startled at the ease with which they spoke in gestures after that. It was no small trick, though easily learned (at least, for him). He could see how Cassandra had so rapidly regained it under Shiva's self-interested tutelage. It's just a . . .dodge, kick . . . manner of thinking of things . . .punch. . . . that's ninety degrees to normal. . . parry, thrust. Cassandra's widening grin, combined with a flurry of blows, expressed her joy at his discovery. It was a delight that matched his own.

Happy? I am happy?  . . . Leap, spinning kick . . .Kaze, this feeling. . .  punch, summersault. . . is this . . . whirling tumble, bounce off monitor . . . pleasure? Happiness? Pirouette, snap-kick . . .it is, isn't it!? I've learned something else about myself! This feeling . . . this is my happiness!

Robin leapt at that, straight up in the air, flipping over at the last minute to plant his feet firmly against a convenient stalactite and with a bunching push of wiry strength from his legs, send himself hurtling earthward. The batarangs he flung as he tumbled down were deftly intercepted by the likewise acrobatic Batgirl, who stretched out a lazy hand to pick them from the air.

This, of course, was exactly as he'd intended.

The paintball cartridges he'd loaded onto the small projectiles exploded on impact with Batgirl's gloves, showering the black leather-clad vigilante with a rainbow of hues, each brighter than the last. 

There was a moment of sheer, utter silence as all present in the cave registered what had just happened. Robin had landed a solid hit on Batgirl! Indirectly, and arguably by 'cheating', but still a solid, palpable hit. 

Then an esteemed British gentleman, one who'd entered the cave unseen during the furious combat, cleared his throat.

"I shall ready the laundry. Miss Cassandra, a fresh set of clothes is waiting for you by the change rooms. Master Robin, I take it you used the water-soluble variety?" The threat, subtle though unmistakably dire, was definitely present.

"uh . . . yeah, Alfred. Water-soluble." I hope.

Turning, he grinned ruefully at his paint-dripping counterpart. I guess, he communicated with a tilt of his head, the party's over.

Batgirl, wringing fluorescent pink from her gloves, faced him with a liquid shrug. Her fingers flicked ever so rapidly in Alfred's direction as she nodded her response. Yeah. And guess what? **Alfred** won, so he gets that cookie!

Nobody was more surprised than Robin himself at the sound that followed. Rusty and hesitant, it displayed amply the disused state in which it had spent so much time. Not for long, though. It was soon joined by another, heartier and more sure, familiar with frequent use. Then another and another, and finally a fourth. The four sounds, cheerful and sure, bolstered the first, mellowing it into a bell-like tone of joy. 

Laughter. Two laughs of delight at a joke, three of relief and disbelief at the sound of the first. 

Robin laughed, chortling until his sides ached and his tears ran. From happiness, from amusement, from the sheer thrill of being able to do so, Robin laughed.

Behind him, Oracle and Nightwing exchange glances and relieved mirth of their own.

"She told him a joke! With her body-language, she told him a joke!"

"Yeah, and get this! He laughed!" Together, they chuckled, comforted and delighted for the youngest member of their 'family'.

Unspoken, but not unfelt, the sentiment settled onto the Cave. A rare feeling in this place, one of contented optimism. It's going to be okay. Robin, everything, it really is going to be okay!

In the change room, Cassandra chuckled again around the mouthful of cookies Alfred had slipped her. Mission accomplished!

END Interlude 2


	3. three

Interlude 3: Snapshots of perspective.

Ver. 1.1

by Nikoru-chan

Disclaimer: None of the characters portrayed herein belong to me. They are the property of DC, Warner Bros. and whomever else. No profit is being made from this work of fan fiction.

Special thanks to Charlene for beta-ing.

YOUNG JUSTICE      

            Nightwing's wish for a reunion was granted sooner than anticipated, though not precisely in the manner he'd planned. 

            A few days after his breakdown in the diner, and subsequent breakthrough in the Cave, Robin rejoined Young Justice for a second attempt at a friendly meet. The hope was that it wouldn't go as badly as the first. And it didn't. At least, not quite. (However, as Superboy observed, a 'good' Young Justice meeting was rapidly being reclassified as one where nobody died, was seriously injured, or threatened another hero with death/destruction, a definition that rendered this reunion a resounding success.)

            The intention wasto start onSaturday, with Nightwing once again transporting Robin to a designated location (in this instance, after consultation with the rest of YJ, the hotel that served as their base was considered the best option. That way at least, the only people Robin could perforate with batarangs would be his team-mates, not the still healing and still _very _miffed Titans.)

            But good intentions often go awry, and thus it was not surprising that Nightwing's arrival at Wayne Manor on the Saturday morning was met by an elderly butler, and no one else.

            "The young master is not here, I'm afraid."

            "Eh? He's gone?"

            "I'm afraid so,"

            "That little - !" Under the stern eye of the man he considered a father, Nightwing nobly refrained from using some of the more colorful vocabulary he'd picked up over the years. "Why?! He _knew_ he was going to see Young Justice today!"

            "As I understand it, Master Dick, that is still the plan. At least, the plan as it was communicated to me by the young master before he departed for his rendezvous."

            "Huh?" Dick asked, intelligently.

            "He left some time ago, when that . . . contraption . . . from Young Justice arrived. The Super-Cycle I believe it's called."

  
            "Yeah? Did the gang come and get him? How'd they know where to find him?" Anger forgotten, Dick perked up, interested. _Odd, they told me not to arrive with him for a few hours yet**. **Thatthey wanted to get the place ready. _

            "Not at all. The cycle arrived alone."

            "Oh." _I must talk to Tim about that. Outfitting a machine with a remote tracking device is a good thing if it means **you** can find **it**, but the reverse. . . _

            As it was, it would have been impossible for Nightwing to devise a way to render Robin untraceable to the 'machine'. The Cycle, having taken exception to having its rider absent himself for nearly a year, had upon the return of said rider, promptly encoded a New Genesis dataprint onto the boy. Undetectable by normal, earthly means, the print nonetheless registered the youth as 'belonging', enabling the Super Cycle to now find, and go to, Robin at any time. The only regret the Cycle had was not taking the step earlier. 

********************

SUPER CYCLE

            This One was pleased that the Rider was back. Even though the Rider had changed substantially, underneath it all This One could still be sure that the Rider was The Rider. 

            This could only be a good thing.  Confirmation that the Rider remembered This One was also heartening, though he remembered none of the Others.

            That the Rider had been damaged was unquestioned.  This One had caught the subtle hint of New Genesis technology laced through the Rider's brain and nervous system the minute This One had laid sensors on him, but rather than causing joy, it caused This One concern. This One knew it's own parent technology, and saw that in application to the Rider it had been warped, hybridized in an uncanny, and malign way. _This One knows that the technology has been subverted to a use it was never meant for._ It would have smacked of Apokalyps-style meddling, but there was a purpose to it - other than sheer pain and suffering - that This One detected immediately. 

            This One would have very much liked to start repairing the damage then and there, but other matters had come to a head. This One could not abandon the call of an Other in dire peril, even though the rescue eventually failed. After that, This One and the Rider had been separated for several time-periods.

            So when This One had, on routine sensor sweep of the Headquarters of the Rider and the Others, ascertained that the Rider was to arrive that designated time-period, This One had opted to take matters into it's own tires and collect the Rider a few chrono-units early.

            The Rider had been disposed to co-operate, and This One and the Rider had promptly departed. 

            Uniquely attuned to the Rider's emotions, This One detected a subtle, unspoken wish within the other life form.  The Rider desired a side trip. That suited This One just fine. Extra time spent alone together would allow This One to work its own special brand of healing in peace. Rescues of life forms in dire straits did not always involve charging in dramatically. Sometimes This One was required to employ other measures.

            Following the gentle guidance of the rider's legs and mind, This One set a course for a middle-sized mountain on the main landmass of an island chain. 

*********************

            Due to time differences, the afternoon was lengthening to sunset when they arrived, just in time for Robin to hurriedly change, and then obtain a spray of fresh pine from a closing vendor.  The old woman in the colorful checked head kerchief looked him up and down, and then simply gave him the fresh-scented sprig, waving off his heartfelt thanks and offers of payment. 

            Determination in his gait and the Supercycle invisible at his heels, Van walked into the mist of the mountainside**. **Winding his way among the fresh monuments to the older areas where moss-soaked stones made walking treacherous and tall, straight pine trees dropped a heady carpet of needles to deaden all sound.  It was cool under their branches, and sunset had long since passed into dusk by the time he found what he was looking for. Well-cared for, the monument in question none the less exuded age. _Rather, an ageless serenity,_ Van thought, his heart lightening. A rare, genuine smile graced his face as he carefully slid the pine he'd brought into a carved jar designed for that purpose. _And I hope they'll forgive my temerity, Kaze, Yuki. Your ancestors, that is. But visiting you here was something I just had to do. I'm so glad I did. This just feels . . . right somehow. It's not the end of it, not by a long shot. But I think perhaps it's a beginning. And I'm going to live that beginning, all the way though the middle and to the end. I just thought you should know. Beyond surviving, I'm going to actually, honest-to-god live. For myself because I can, and for both of you, in honor of what you gave to allow me to do so, I will live! _ The atmosphere of the place had been eerie, but somehow with his offering it became accepting, even caring. 

            The Mireba family shrine had found - and acknowledged - one of it's own. 

            He hadn't realized quite how long it was that he spent standing there, lost in his own thoughts, until with a start he discovered it was too dark to see the characters carved on the stonework, their inky darkness melding into the hazy black of the night.

            But the night was an old friend, and Van slipped though it with comfort and grace. Beckoning the now-visible cycle, he quickly changed back to his costume. If he didn't hurry, he'd be late. Late for a meeting with what might very well be the future. 

******************

            As it was, he and the cycle arrived just in time to phase into the rec room of the new headquarters and watch as Superboy and Impulse bickered over who would get the last two penthouse suites (the girls had put dibs on the other three, and neither of the two boys were suicidal enough to contest their choice.) Briefly, Robin considered sending the cycle for popcorn, but then Cassie noticed him.

            "Hey! Robin! How'd you get in here? Oh, silly me, we haven't gotten the surveillance equipment up and running yet, so you could have just walked in. . .Where's Nightwing?"

            "Not here." Robin shrugged. If they couldn't figure it out with the cycle parked right behind him purring like a contented kitten, then he may as well use the opportunity to add to the bat-mystique. 

            "Rob! Buddy! I think you and I need to move into our suites!"

            "Hey!Waitaminuteoneofthosesuitesismineflyboyandyouaren'tintheother!"

            Sensing that the impending brawl, while amusing, would none the less wreck the newly-refurbished headquarters, Robin cleared his throat. "There are two remaining suites, yes?" he asked rhetorically, having already memorised the floor plan.

            "Yeah."

            "The answer is simple, then. You two take them, I'll make other arrangements."

  
            "But. . . But one of them _has_ to be yours!"

  
            "Why?"

            "Um. . ." Looking around, Robin noted the sheepish expressions on nearly everyone's face, along with their inability to meet his eyes. _What the? Oh._ A sudden flash of insight. _They want me to 'stake a claim', because doing so means I'm committed. That I'm here to stay. But then isn't this what this is all about? Kaze . . . I don't know what to do. Should I commit? Can I afford to? Can I afford _not_ to? Do I have the right to trouble these people with my own problems, my own challenges as I try to live as best I can?_

            Shelving the problem for later perusal, Robin opted instead to ask for a tour of the place. While he knew the schematics as well as he knew anything, he none the less suspected that the others would have made certain alterations.

            It was in the room that had been the ballroom that the first big change was apparent. 'Alterations' was too mild a term; the chandelier had been removed, to be replaced with a set of trapeze swings. Below gymnastic equipment of all shapes and sorts dotted the floor. _Looks like the JLA watch tower got generous with their second hand stuff. A lot of this would be useful only to metas._

            But it was the small room just behind the ballroom that caught Robin's breath. Designed as a music room, while all the instruments were long since gone, the acoustics remained impeccable. 

            "Enough tour!" Superboy yelled with forced gaiety, obviously mistaking Robin's thoughtfulness for a frown, "let's hit the pool!" With that he flew off, rapidly returning with a set of shorts he handed to the Boy Wonder. 

            "Borrow these. I've got some stuff here, but you haven't yet." A further whoop, and he shooed everyone to their respective suites to change. 

            Mind elsewhere, Robin slid into the shorts. Leaving the room he'd dressed in, he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

            Scars marred him. Faint, faded whip marks slashed across his chest. Nearly invisible lines traced along his nerves and bunched into obvious white marks the length of his spine. Coarse bands of tissue strapped his wrists and ankles, the rope-burn leaving an ugly patination. Wig and make-up removed for swimming, the healed gun wound on his temple stood out lividly. 

Somehow he'd thought - illogically he knew - with his decision to not only survive, but to live, that the scars would magically disappear. They hadn't of course, and the revealing shorts were unforgiving indeed. _The others will see. . . and they'll ask. And I'll have to think about it all over again._

With a sob he turned back the way he'd come, towards the music room. He had some serious thinking to do, and he knew just how to do it best. 

Turning to the discarded costume, Robin decided against changing again. What he planned on doing could be done just as well in what he was wearing now, and the feel of his hair whipping in a ponytail rather than wrapped around his head under a wig would be . . . freeing, or so he hoped. Deftly opening several of the compartments in his belt, Robin retrieved a plain white box with the Mireba family crest watermarked on it. 

Inside the box nestled a few simple items. Brass chimes on strings of varying length, a strip of opaque cloth, and a CD. Robin, with the help of a ladder, hoisted himself to string the chimes from the ceiling. The same dusty cupboard of the room that had housed the ladder yielded an old, yet still functional CD player, and the Boy Wonder was in business. _This is going to be vastly superior to the cave for this sort of activity. Better acoustics. _ Tying a blindfold over his eyes, he hit 'play'. 

**********************

            It was Secret, water-phobic that she was, who first noticed how long the Boy Wonder was taking to change. Leaving the pool with no little relief, she wafted off to find him. Superboy noticed her departure, and hurried after her.

            "Where you headed?"

            "I just thought Robin was taking an awfully long time. Maybe he got lost or something."

            "Robin? Lost? He probably knows more about this place than we do. All those bat-types love their research." 

            "I'd agree with you if he was a hundred-percent _our_ Robin, the Robin we used to know, but he's -" Catching herself, Secret trailed off, embarrassed. They floated uncomfortably together, then Superboy gently patted her on a misty tendril.

            "I know, Suzie. I know. But that's what this is about. We get him to rejoin the team, and then, somehow we - I dunno - get him back or somethin'. The real him." Secret was spared the need to respond by the soft ringing they both caught echoing down the hall. It sounded like . . . bells?

            Following the faint chiming, the two found themselves outside the door to the music room. Once abandoned, it was now occupied by a single boy wonder, one who sat blindfolded on the floor, listening intently to the belled melody that rang from an antiquated speaker. 

Superboy frowned as he peered through the slightly ajar door. _Whatever we heard earlier, it sure wasn't coming from that dinosaur. How the heck did Robin - _he got his answer as the piece finished and the youth in question rose liquidly to his feet, and in a single continuation of the move, leapt straight up.

            With minutely controlled force, hand flashed out to one side, a bo staff to the other, each impacting with small bells that Superboy suddenly realised were strung at varying points from the ceiling. In a perfect rendition of the melody just played on the CD, Robin leapt, spun, and kicked his way around the room, bouncing off walls and floors, tumbling and somersaulting through the musical maze of swaying bells. The sound was incredible. Each blow, struck with precision, a note. Each note, timed impeccably such that the swinging arc of the free-hanging chimes allowed Robin to either ghost past the bell in question, or ring it again with fist, staff or foot, flowed seamlessly into a glorious harmony.

            The Boy Wonder was also blindfolded, Secret noticed, as Superboy unwittingly leant on the door, pushing it further ajar. Robin's face snapped around at the sound, slight though it was. His body followed his head with the speed of thought, and a bo staff lashed towards Secret as Robin landed and pirouetted into a high kick. 

            "Rob!" Superboy had an instant to switch off the telekinesis he'd anchored himself with, and brace for the impact. _He hits me with that amount of force when I'm fully planted and he'll break his foot!_

            But the expected blow never came. Opening one eye, Superboy regarded the bare foot held millimeters from his neck. To one side, the bo staff was also rigidly still, though it protruded through the misty outer tendrils of a startled Secret.

            Using his free hand, Robin deftly removed his blindfold. His eyes widened as he noted the slack-jawed expressions on the faces of his 'intruders'. Breaking off his gaze, he turned away from them, arms wrapping around his shoulders protectively.

            "Don't," His whispered, lowered voice a heart-felt plea.

            "Don't what?" 

            "Don't look at them. Please, just . . . don't look at me!" Futilely, Robin's hands raked over his scars, unsure which of them to cover first, unable to hide them all. Superboy stood, for once unable to come up with anything to say.

            So, of course, he shot off the first thing he thought of. "Is this why you wouldn't come swimming?" As Robin flinched, Secret recovered enough from her surprise to salvage the situation.

            "Robin," she smiled gently, wafting around him in a loose, foggy embrace, "they don't matter to us. They don't make you mean less to us, and they don't make you ugly."

            Superboy snorted. "They do make us wish we could pound the crap outta a certain somebody, though."

            His back still turned to them, the tension in Robin's shoulders eased slightly. Encouraged, Superboy continued, "You're still our buddy, oh Fearless Leader. You pulled the blows, didn't you?" It wasn't really a question. "You heard me shout and you pulled the blows." He smiled softly. "Despite everything, you're still our Robin." 

            A long moment later, a moment characterized by the baited breath of Superboy and the cloudy fidgeting of Secret, and Robin's head lifted.

            "Well, then. It's decided. I'd better get changed, hadn't I?"       

            "Huh?"

            Turning, the Boy Wonder faced them. "I need to get used to your sounds again, the noises everyone makes when they move, so I can work effectively with you guys." Hesitantly, as if still rusty despite recent practice, Robin's face cracked into a faint, lopsided grin. "I don't want to hit my own team-mates. At least, not by accident."

            "Hang on a minute . . ." Scarcely able to believe either his eyes or his ears, Superboy stared at the other boy. Next to him, Secret beamed.

            "Out, both of you. Go get the others and set up the VCR while I dress, then we'll watch some of that Wendy show you said you liked."

            "Did you just say -"

  
            " I said 'out'," the grin widened, a slight, grateful twinkle even going so far as to reach Robin's eyes. "This is my room now."

            Beating a hasty retreat, Superboy and Secret shared a jubilant high five. Robin had staked his claim. He was coming back, and this time he intended to stay.

            _It's going to be alright. It really, truly is going to be okay!_

END INTERLUDE THREE

Notes:

1.   In case it isn't clear, the parts which are narrated by 'This One', and refer to Robin as 'The Rider' are told from the Supercycle's point of view. Near as I can tell, no one has written a fanfic from its perspective, but I've wanted to do so for a very long time. The thing I really wanted to do with it didn't fit in too well in this fic, so it'll crop up in another. 

2.   I got the basic concept for Robin's special training from reading Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action Trigun. In the end story of the third book, Vash does this nifty speed-draw thing with an egg balanced on his gun, and I think somewhere else he practices using coins and a wineglass. I expanded on the idea and made it more of an auditory thing. As for the whys, hows and wheretofors that bring Robin to use this training method, all I can say is, Stay Tuned **grin**

3.   All of YJ saw Robin's scars during the events of Wind and the Snow, when Impulse shifted the boy wonder to the infirmary following the part where Kaguya nearly gutted him. Robin was unconscious during this, and rather agitated immediately afterwards, so it's not unreasonable to suppose he hasn't realised that. 

The 'Wendy show' refers to Wendy Werewolf Stalker, a popular show in the DCU. Gee, I wonder what it could possibly be based on.**grin** After all that, I suspect this will be the last interlude ficlet for a little while. Robin's had his 'time to heal', at least to some extent, and has patched up a couple of relationships. I'm itching to get back to the action and start chucking him off buildings again. So, next fic, another big story arc starts. 


End file.
